


Factory Normal

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Trans Character, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:37:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7870462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forgiveness should be a big thing.</p>
<p>Except…well.</p>
<p>Mick’s kinda horny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Forgiveness should be a big thing.

Len walked into that cell and into Mick’s fists, and he lay there on the ground and waited for Mick to decide if he lived or died, and that was something big. It brought Mick back onto the team, but not back to Len, no, not yet. Mick was still angry about being abandoned, still twisted up inside from being Kronos, from the way the Time Masters had tried to break him to fit their mold. He hasn’t been _right_ for a while – Kronos may have seemed more controlled than Mick, but that was all surface level. Wasn’t because he was any less emotional; if anything, he was more out of it, mood swinging from side to side like crazy until it was easier to just forget about everything and focus on the mission – and he wasn’t ready to put it behind him until Len did something big to show how sorry he was.

Except…well.

Mick’s kinda horny. 

Good fight like the one they had against the cowboys and the Hunters, that always got his engine running, and no one scratched his itch better than Len. Mick doesn’t know how long he spent with the Time Masters, it’s probably longer than his body shows but less time than his brain thinks, but if there’s one thing he knows for a fact it’s that the fuckers didn’t give him any time to get laid. Mission, mission, sleep, mission – nope, definitely no memories of sex. Not just nothing penetrative, which Mick’s always been a bit touchy about, but no handjobs, no fingering between friends, nothing. Not even _jerking off_ , which is just wrong. It’s one more point in favor of it not being that long a time, whatever his brain says; Mick knows his body, that strange and once-hated creation that he has made his own, and his body likes sex too much to be denied for that long. 

One time he tried not to touch himself for the whole month he was in solitary, and for the next week Len could barely brush by him without Mick pouncing him in a desperate fury. 

That’d been a good week. 

He remembers the good weeks now.

So, yeah, he knows that he and Len should talk about their issues with each other. Or, since they’re both men and emotional wrecks to boot, they should at least do something big for each other, some gesture, something. He knows Len’s waiting to figure out what it is that Mick wants so that he can give it to him.

Well, fuck that. Mick’s _horny_.

Mick palms the control to Len’s room and wanders in, casual as if it was their first week on board and they hadn’t yet figured out why Rip gave them two bedrooms when they’ve always ever only needed one. 

(Answer: it’s because the Time Masters are heteronormative as hell. Rip had told Len one week that he couldn’t understand Rip’s angst because he’d never had a serious girlfriend, much less a wife, and Len had been rendered speechless. Not an easy feat. Hell, Mick still doesn’t know if Rip knows that he and Len have been knocking boots for longer than Jax has been alive, though he’s not sure how anyone could’ve missed it.)

The door opens for him smooth as anything, acknowledging him as rightful occupant instead of guest, and Len pretends he doesn’t look heartbreakingly glad to see Mick there. His face is still bruised up, but it looks better than it was before.

“Gideon fix your ribs?” Mick asks, getting straight to business. He’s pretty sure Len has, since he’s been moving pretty freely, but sometimes Len is an idiot like that.

“Yeah,” Len says carefully, putting the book he’d been reading aside. “Wouldn’t risk slowing anyone down.”

“And your face?”

“Mostly superficial now.”

“Good,” Mick says. “I’m gonna need you in top shape for what I want to get done.”

Len’s eyebrows are rising in silent question when Mick pulls off his shirt, and then Len’s face changes from curiosity to a rising hope. Mick’s not the type for hate sex – he’s gotten through enough problems with his body to ever want to waste it on someone he’s angry at – and Len knows it, which means if they’re going to do this, they’re going to do this as friends, partners, whatever the hell they feel like defining themselves as today. 

Len’s not going to be stupid enough to actually state aloud that Mick’s forgiven him, though. “Your burns are different,” he says instead. “Some of them.”

“Yeah, the Time Masters’ computers kept trying to put me back to what they considered to be factory normal, which is crap, of course,” Mick says, shaking his head. Luckily, the damage he needed healed was mostly in his forearms, maybe part of his back or so; the scars on his upper arms and shoulders remain intact, and those are the ones that are most important. The ones that remind him who he is. The burns on his chest, too; the ones the cover up the surgery scars and make him look like any other man. Any other man covered with massive untreated burn scars, anyway, but hey, he _is_ a notorious arsonist. “I don’t even know, man. Are you going to chat or strip?”

Len snickers and starts pulling off his clothing. 

Some people think Len is body-shy, but really, he’s just private. Mick was understanding about it at first – he of all people knows how it is to hate your body for not being what it was supposed to be; after all, the burns on his chest aren’t the only ones that were put there on purpose – but then they shacked up and Len would wander around the house dressed in nothing by a yawn like a walking billboard of temptation, and after that Mick figured out that Len likes being naked if it’s with someone he trusts not to take advantage, whether physically or emotionally.

Mick’s made it a point to ask for nudity after that. 

Len’s the only one Mick’s comfortable being nude around, too. Mick likes taking off his shirt – one of the many benefits of masculinity, really, and also, if you look as good shirtless as Mick does, why _wouldn’t_ you? – but he’s still a bit sore sometimes about what is or isn’t between his legs. Of course, Len’s never minded, has never treated Mick as anything other than a man even when he’s buried balls deep inside his cunt. 

Mick grins at the thought. He hadn’t really had a plan when he’d come in here – some vague thoughts about making Len get on his knees and go down on him until Mick’s come a few times and Len’s suffering from the world’s worst case of blue balls, maybe, or strapping on his biggest cock and making Len walk funny the next day – but suddenly the idea of riding Len’s cock sounds _amazing_. 

He stalks closer to where Len’s waiting on the bed, shedding what’s left of his clothing as he does, the other man’s cock starting to fill already just in anticipation. Thick and heavy and perfect: Mick’s played around with his fair share of sex toys, but he’s never found a cock that suits him down to the ground as much as Len’s. Fuck, Mick’s already dripping wet, no foreplay needed; he wants and he wants and he _wants_.

“Oh, have I got plans for you,” he says, his voice low and rumbly. 

Len lounges back on the bed, too busy taking in Mick to be uncomfortable in his own skin. “You talking to me or to my dick?” he drawls. “Either’s fine, I’m just curious if the rest of me’s invited to the party.”

“I’ll think about it,” Mick says and straddles Len, pushing him further down on the bed. “What part of the rest of you was thinking of joining in?”

Len arches an eyebrow and licks his lips pointedly.

Hmm. Tempting.

“You can do that for round two while you recover,” Mick decides. “Right now I’m gonna play around a bit with my toy here.” He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Len’s cock. “You just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Len’s gotten full hard by the time Mick sinks down around him; he’s always had a bit of a kink for being objectified, loves it when Mick treats him like just another one of the toys he keeps in the box under the bed. Mick’s not sure if it’s the power dynamics or just Len liking to test his self-control by keeping his hands off and by his sides while Mick rides him, but Mick’s not going to complain. Not when Len is hard and hot and thick inside of him, and fuck, what the hell was he thinking the last few days? No sex just because he’s in a snit about Len picking the team over him once? What sort of stupid thought process was that? Mick’s the one who’s really being punished there. 

Len whimpers as Mick rolls his hips, his fingers curling into the sheets and his knuckles going white from the effort of not thrusting up into him. 

Okay, maybe they were both being punished. But seriously, never again. Lenny making up all his sins against Mick with sex is clearly a much better strategy.

Mick sets a nice rhythm, moving on top of Len, and watches his lover sweat and bite his lip near to bleeding with the effort of keeping still with an almost sadistic glee. “Nice,” Mick finally says as he feels himself start to get close, clenching down on Len and earning another low whine. “Fuck, I love your cock. You can move now,” he adds, almost like an afterthought and Len’s hands are on his hips and his hips are thrusting up nearly as fast as the Flash. 

Mick laughs at the thought, laughs deep and with his whole body, and Len groans. Leans up for a kiss, slow and telegraphing it like he thinks Mick’s going to say no now. 

Sometimes Mick has no idea what goes on in Len’s head. He reaches over and pulls him up into that kiss, makes it messy and dirty, grinding down as one of Len’s hands slips between them to play with Mick’s clit. Mick’s so goddamn oversensitized that he starts shuddering over into orgasm basically right away, but Len’s only a few seconds behind him, and he doesn’t have the excuse of months without jerking off. Mick sighs with pleasure when he feels Len’s cock jerk and spurt inside of him. He’ll need to clean up later, but fuck if he doesn’t like the feeling. 

“Very well done,” Mick tells Len, who smirks up at him. “I think I’ll keep you around.”

“Despite the occasional fuck-up?” Len says, playing at casual as Mick pulls off of him. 

“If you can overlook mine,” Mick replies and sees the slow smile light up Len’s face. He crawls up Len’s body until he’s straddling Len’s shoulders. “Now I think you said something about participation?”

“Well, you know me,” Len drawls, drawing his hands up Mick’s thighs. “I’m all about team spirit.”

Mick snorts.

\--------

They don’t actually get spend the next few days fucking, mostly because they’ve got the Pilgrim to worry about, and baby versions of themselves (Len is so fucking cute, what the hell, Mick had young siblings, babies are _not that cute_ ) and also maybe Mick having a little heart to heart with his younger self about not being such a dumbass.

His younger self is weedy and coltish and starting to curve up front despite his best efforts, and Mick’s not sure how much of the conversation his mini-me’s going to remember because his younger self spent half the talk being too busy marveling over the breadth of Mick’s shoulders and his muscles and the fact that most people look at him and don’t even realize that he was born with two Xs where there should have been only one. Mick knows some people like him don't care about looking on the outside the way they are on the inside, but he always has, ever since he was younger than mini-me. 

In fairness, knowing that he’ll one day turn out the way Mick did – and Mick is fucking _proud_ of his body, he worked on it and earned every single pound of muscle fair and square – might end up helping more than anything else Mick might’ve said. Mick’s okay with that. 

It does ping something weird in his brain, though, some thought, some memory. He’s not sure what it is, but he’s sure he’ll think of it one day. 

It’s not until a week or two later, when he’s stuffing his face in the Waverider galley when it hits him. Weird mood swings, getting super horny, random hunger cravings – those are the signs of hormone fluctuations, the type he hasn’t had since he first started taking his testosterone on the regular. 

“Oh _fuck me_ ,” he says, dropping the cookie he was contemplating shoving in his mouth a minute before. Len, sitting down the counter from him, turns and arches an eyebrow at him. “Back to _factory normal_ , I said, didn’t I? Fucking heteronormative Time Masters fucked with my fucking hormones.”

“That’d explain a lot,” Len says, managing to convey ‘oh so that’s why you’ve been such a bastard recently’ without actually, you know, saying as much. 

Mick flips him off. 

Len rolls his eyes. “Go tell Gideon to get you back on the right dosage,” he suggests. “Since we’re stuck escorting the supervillain instead of just killing him, it doesn’t seem like there’s much else to do.”

Mick sighs and goes down to the medical lab. But Jax is there, dying by inches, and Mick gets distracted; it’s not until later on, when Jax has been sent back to 2016 and Savage has been recaptured and they’re on their way to the Vanishing Point that Mick finally gets around to seeing Gideon about it.

It takes an annoyingly long time to explain to her what he needs (seriously, the rest of the future has to be better about this issue than the Time Masters, because this is crap) but eventually he settles for saying, “Okay, you took a scan of me when I first got on board, right? That’s how you fixed Snart’s hand?”

“That’s correct, Mr. Rory.”

“Okay, about then, I had the right mix of hormones I wanted, okay? That’s _my_ factory normal. Forget the stupid bullshit about what my DNA may or may not say. Pull up _that_.”

“Understood, Mr. Rory. Pulling up that information now.”

Mick waits, rolling his eyes. Fucking Time Masters.

“Mr. Rory, I’ve pulled the relevant information for you.”

“And is what I got now different?” Mick says, restraining himself from punching the console. It wouldn’t help.

“Yes, Mr. Rory.”

“Then I want to go back to what I was _then_.”

“Understood, Mr. Rory. I will warn you, this will have negative side-effects –”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before,” Mick says. “Trust me, with my mental health status already as bad as it is, adding in a bout of dysphoria is infinitely worse than the side effects, and also it’s what I want. Etc. fucking etc. So why don’t you get to it?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rory,” Gideon says. “I require explicit confirmation that you wish to proceed with termination before proceeding.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Mick says, blinking. “Termination of what?”

“The fetus you are carrying, of course,” Gideon says. “Such a radical transformation of your hormone levels all at once is very likely to result in miscarriage at such an early stage.”

“Miscarriage,” Mick says blankly. “As in…pregnant?”

“That’s correct, Mr. Rory. Do you wish to proceed?”

“No,” Mick says. “I wish to sit down.”

He does, right there on the ground, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He feels numb. He may be in shock, or at least Gideon starts fussing over him like he is.

After a few minutes he speaks again. “I haven’t had a period since I was seventeen.”

“You would have been due for one fairly soon,” Gideon says. “The Kronos suit has a temporal stabilizer that is designed to keep your body in stasis, preventing time from passing normally and therefore keeping you from resuming your cycle, but the hormones in your body were temporarily returned to their original state by your last round of healing by the Time Masters.” She sounds apologetic for a computer. “The overall changes in your appearance caused by your regular intake of testosterone over the years wouldn’t have faded, of course, but internally it was a fairly abrupt change, likely the cause of the mood swings you described. Internally, your hormones are back at what you would call ‘factory normal’ and have been returning slowly towards your preferred state as you continued with your regime of testosterone upon your return to the Waverider.”

“Are you sure?” Mick asks, barely comprehending her. “About the…you know. I mean, it – it would’ve had to happen pretty recently.” Mick’s only been back a few weeks, and even then he and Lenny were still fighting until that time after the wild west – unless the Time Masters did something he wasn’t aware of – 

“My medical scanning equipment is advanced enough to detect pregnancy at a very early stage,” Gideon says. “There is no doubt. Nor is there any doubt regarding the identity of the biological father, Mr. Snart.”

Mick releases a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Good. No Time Master shenanigans. 

Well, besides screwing with his hormones so that he was fucking _fertile_ again for the first time in decades.

It hadn’t even _occurred_ to him to use a condom. 

“I need a drink.”

“That would be inadvisable –”

Mick holds up a hand. “Given how early I am, exactly _how_ inadvisable?”

“There should be no negative effects provided you do not drink to excess or injure yourself,” Gideon tells him begrudgingly. 

“Right,” Mick says. “That’s what I thought.”

He hunts down the liquor bottle they were passing around earlier. He’ll finish that, then hunt down Lenny to have a little talk about the unexpected side effects of hormone adjustment. 

The Time Masters’ guards hunt him down first.

\----

The first time Mick went to the chair, it wasn’t so much that it had broken Mick with pain as it was that Mick had just gotten tired of fighting and went along with it. Pain was never the way to get to Mick; Len used to say that he had the pain tolerance of a draft horse hyped up on ketamine. 

Len has also never seen a horse outside the racetrack in his life, but Mick appreciated the comparison nevertheless. 

This time, even though the chair is stronger and nastier and even more invasive, resisting it is almost easy. Playing along like it broke him is even easier. Kronos is a part of Mick, that nasty cold part deep down inside that Mick prefers to keep leashed when possible, but no part of Kronos can handle the concept of motherhood, which is a bigger, badder, and scarier motherfucker than Kronos ever was. 

Hell, Mick’s not too comfortable with it, either. He’s a _guy_. Guys don’t fucking get pregnant, at least not outside of that online stuff that Len reads with an almost fanatical devotion whenever his shows are on hiatus. 

(Mick reads them too, but that’s just sharing his buddy’s interests. Really. Also sometimes the shows end on a fucking cliffhanger and you’ve got to have _something_ to tide you over, right?)

Helping Len rescue the rest of the crew is easy.

Waking up and finding himself a mother and a widower all at once is not. 

Well, that sure as fuck isn’t going to stand.

Mick is mopey as fuck for the first month or two, not sure what he can do and thanking god that you don’t really show much in the first trimester, but then they go and kill Savage and Hunter is prancing around like an idiot talking about fixing the timeline and Mick gets an idea.

He pretends to need time to think about Hunter’s offer and goes and hunts down the Flash.

“So I heard you run through time,” he says, because it’s true; it drove the Time Masters nuts.

“This isn’t a really good time –” the Flash starts, looking shifty-eyed – probably because Mick’s cornered him in his civilian identity and also because Mick suspects he may have changed the timeline so that he’s not actually the Flash anymore, but Mick was trained by the fucking Time Masters; he knows how to avoid shit like this. He also doesn’t care even a little bit as long as he gets Len and Lisa back the way they ought to be. 

“I’ve set bombs to explode under four of Central Cities’ major buildings and throughways,” Mick says. “You can listen to me and I’ll tell you where they are and how to remove it, or you can waste time looking for them.”

“ _Fine_ ,” the Flash says, looking aggravated. “What do you need me to do?”

“Snart decided to fuck off and sacrifice himself for the greater good, but he also left behind a pregnant spouse,” Mick says, careful to keep his pronouns neutral. “Being as you’re practically directly responsible for it –”

“What? How?!”

“– I need you to come and stop it. Now are you going to whine about stopping a kid from growing up as an orphan –” That seems to hit a nerve with the Flash. “– or get your ass in gear already?”

Between Kronos’ time ship and the Flash’s speed, Mick’s got a surprised-looking Len sprawled out on his floor back in 2016 looking a little twitchy with the side effects of temporal exposure within something like three hours. Best plan _ever_.

Admittedly, Len’s sprawled out on the floor because Mick hugged him, told him “No, I don’t forgive you,” and punched him in the face.

The Flash is looking between the two of them with a weirded-out look, but whatever. 

“Thanks; you can go now,” Mick tells him.

“Uh, but the bombs?”

“Oh, those don’t exist, I lied,” Mick says, and turns his back on the Flash’s yowl of exasperation and the burst of air that comes when the kid runs off back to his pretty little new timeline.

“You came back,” Len says, smiling up at Mick.

“Of course I did,” Mick says. “I don’t actually make any decisions without you and it’s getting pretty late in the game for an abortion, so we really should talk about this.”

Len blinks.

“Um,” he says. “What?”

Mick pats him on the shoulder. “Remember that conversation we had about factory normal hormones? You should, it’s like yesterday for you.”

Len is clearly putting together all the pieces without any additional assistance and his face is priceless in its horrified surprise. Mick doesn’t take it personally; that was about his reaction, too.

“Hunter wants us to go guard the timeline for good now, but I’m thinking we should wait until after the kid’s born to go do anything really stupid,” Mick says generously. “But on the other hand, I _would_ like access to Gideon’s medbay, so I was figuring I’d wait on you to decide.”

“Um,” Len says.

“Also, I think the Flash might’ve changed the timeline,” Mick adds. “Everything’s weirdly different now.”

“ _Um_ ,” Len says.

“And they cancelled Game of Thrones without revealing the end.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Okay,” Mick allows. “That last one was a lie.”

“I _hate_ you,” Len says, and takes Mick into his arms for a kiss.


	2. Follow-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually an only vaguely related follow-up set in the same universe that I wrote in response to a short tumblr prompt requesting "someone is having a baby", but a commentator pointed out that people who enjoyed this might miss it in my tumblr ficlets fic and suggested that I post it here as well. So here it is!

“I’m gonna burn it all,” Mick says, dead serious. “Burning. Fire. So much fire. There’s gonna be nothing but ash when I’m done. I’m gonna melt the metal in your instruments. I’m gonna twist your plastic into unrecognizable shapes. I’m going to watch you choke on the smoke and let the flames flash-fry you, and I’m gonna _laugh_. It’s gonna be _beautiful_.”

The nurse does not appear particularly intimidated.

“Mick, baby, if you threaten to burn the staff one more time, we’re going to have to up our bribes,” Lisa says. ”Couldn’t you switch it up a little? Guns, knives, strangulation? Have you considered drowning people?”

“Fuck you,” Mick says, glaring at where she’s sitting pretty across the room. It’s far enough away that he can’t reach her, though maybe if he grabbed the cup of water…

“No throwing,” Len says. “You’ll want to drink that in another minute.”

“Fuck you too,” Mick says. “Neither of you have some stranger poking their latexed hands up your tender bits, which are getting more tender by the goddamn minute.”

“You’re dilating very nicely,” the nurse says. “Practically textbook.”

“Good,” Mick says. “‘cause that’s what it feels like I’m pushing out of there - and I don’t mean one of those dinky ones for English students, I’m talking full on Chem 101.”

“How does it compare to a bullet wound?” Len says curiously, ignoring the fact that Mick is trying to grind his hand into dust every time a contraction hits. Len always did have a crazy pain tolerance; next time, he’s having the baby. Someone in the future’s gotta invented some way to do it. “Better or worse than a knifing?”

Mick considers this question seriously. “What type of knife?” he asks. “Is it more like a switchblade, or, like, a shiv-style one?”

“Are you actually having this conversation?” Sara says, looking half-fascinated, half-horrified.

“You don’t like it, you can wait outside with the rest of the Waverider crew,” Mick tells her. “Childbirth is _not_ a spectator sport. Why’re you in here, anyway?”

“I’m here as moral support to my girlfriend,” Sara replies, nodding at Lisa. “Also, reminding myself why I’m glad I’m dating another woman with no interest in having biological kids of our own.”

“Fuck you,” Mick repeats.

“Isn’t that how you and Lenny got into this trouble in the first place?” Lisa says sweetly.

“I have access to a time ship and I know how to drive it, you bitch,” Mick says fondly. “You know how no one ever recorded your fourth grade dance recital? _That can be fixed._ ”

“You and my brother are and have always been perfectly chaste and the baby you’re currently in the process of having is a miracle,” Lisa says immediately. “If I’ve ever suggested anything differently, I revoke it immediately. Do you require grovelling?”

“Another chocolate bar,” Mick says.

“On it,” Lisa says, scarpering.

“What the hell happened at that dance recital?” Sara says wonderingly, watching Lisa go.

“Mick, you never said how labor rates against a knifing,” Len whines. “If you don’t give an in-the-moment analysis, you’ll be flooded by endorphins and your memory will be suspect.”

“Fine, fine - is that a _chart_?”

Len deftly finishes pulling it out of his pocket. “I wanted a solid answer. I’ve got entries for the last few hours, but now we’re reaching a more subjective stage of blinding agony.”

“Snart, you are such an unbelievable dweeb,” Sara says. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that Mick…Mick. What are you doing? Why are you taking the chart?”

“Well, we gotta be scientific about it,” Mick says, frowning at her. “Besides, I ain’t planning on doing this more than once.”

“You’re both nuts,” she declares flatly. 

“You’re more than welcome to leave,” Mick reminds her. He checks the box helpfully labelled ‘straight shiv with a twist after it’s in’, then reconsiders and shifts his answer to ‘jagged shiv, no twist’. “This is gonna be real helpful next time we’re in Iron Heights. A lotta guys are gonna be curious.”

“I can’t believe you. Are you seriously thinking about doing things that’ll get you thrown in prison when you’re expecting a kid?”

“Kids,” Len says proudly. “Twins. And we gotta pay for 'em somehow.”

“Have you considered, like, any line of business besides crime?”

They both stare blankly at her.

Sara sighs. “What’re you going to name them?”

“I was thinking Luke and Leia,” Len says. “But Mick vetoed that on the ground that we don’t wanna name them after anything we don’t know if the sequels are gonna ruin.”

“It’s still an open possibility,” Mick assures Len. “But I wanna see the kids first.”

“Makes sense.”

“Oh my god,” Sara says. “I’m ashamed to know both of you.”

“Does anyone ever really know anyone else?” Len says philosophically. 

“Have you been stealing my morphine?” Mick asks suspiciously. 

“I’ve been eating half of your candy bars,” Len confesses shamelessly. “I think I’m sugar high.”

“I _knew_ they were disappearing too fast!”

“Yes, good, just like that,” the nurse says encouragingly. “Just a little bit more, and then you can start pushing.”

“I’m gonna push your _head_ into a goddamn _furnace_ , is what I’m gonna push…”


End file.
